Thy hand that knows the subtler art, The heart once caught, should ne'er be freed. EPIGRAM. ON GEORGE II. AND COLLY CIBBER, ESQ. AUGUSTUS still survives in Maro's strain, And Spencer's verse prolongs Eliza's reign; Great George's acts let tuneful Cibber sing, For nature formed the poet for the king. STELLA IN MOURNING. WHEN lately Stella's form displayed The nymphs, who found their power decline, "Fate, snatch away the bright disguise, And let the goddess trust her eyes." Thus blindly prayed the fretful fair, And fate malicious, heard the prayer; Since Stella still extends her reign, The skies" That Stella mourn no more." TO STELLA. NOT the soft sighs of vernal gales, Not all the gems on India's shore, Yet nature's charms allure my eyes, Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain, VERSES Written at the request of a Gentleman to whom a Lady had given a sprig of Myrtle. WHAT hopes, what terrors, does this gift create; TO LADY FIREBRACE. At Bury Assizes. At length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain, So long renowned in B-n's deathless strain! Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace, might inspire Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre; For such thy beautious mind and lovely face, Thou seemest at once, bright nymph, a muse and grace. TO LYCE, AN ELDERLY LADY Ye nymphs whom starry rays invest, By flattering poets given, Who shine, by lavish lovers drest, In all the pomp of heaven. Engross not all the beams on high, Which gild a lover's lays, But, as your sister of the sky, Let Lyce share the praise, Her silver locks displays the moon, Her brows a cloudy show; Striped rainbows round her eyes are seen, Her teeth the night with darkness vies; But some Zelinda, while I sing, And all the pens of Cupid's wing Attack my gentle lines. Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye, My Lyce makes as good a sky, ON THE DEATH OF MR. ROBERT LEVETT, A Practiser in Physick. CONDEMNED to hope's delusive mine, 7% |